


Fealty

by noun



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emperor Aral AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noun/pseuds/noun
Summary: A Vorkosigan overthrows the Emperor, again, for the good of the Empire and his own sons.
Relationships: Alys Vorpatril/Padma Vorpatril
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45
Collections: Alternate Universe Exchange 2020





	Fealty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DesertVixen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertVixen/gifts).



> Thank you to pendrecarc for the beta.

Aral turned the stuffed toy over in his hands. There was still a little blood on it, the pinpricks no bigger than his nail, gone brown with oxidization and beyond the skill of any washerwoman to remove.

“What did he call it?” he asked, and it was Alys who responded.

“Steggie,” she said, and Aral squeezed the toy. It did not squeak, only stared out at the room with little eyes, much loved and utterly useless to its owner at the moment. Ivan had a little blanket that he was already attached to, and Alys was suddenly fiercely determined to see the stuffed dinosaur returned to Gregor, lest he wake to find it absent. 

“Steggie,” he repeated, and held it for a moment longer before he set the toy down on the table before them, in the last empty space. The rest of the table was already covered by flimsies. They laid out both the result of the interrogation of the would-be assassins alongside projected vote totals for upcoming proposals. 

Which would pass. No one would risk going against the will of the Emperor, not when he had seized the title so absolutely.

Alys reached for Padma’s hand and squeezed it, but did not look to his face for reassurance.

Aral stood slowly, brushing out the wrinkles on the front of his dress pants. The sabre at his side was, in Alys’ opinion, asking for trouble, likely to bump into someone or something, but Aral had never looked out of place in any of his uniforms or been weighed down by adjectives like ‘clumsy’. The colors, though, the black-and-silver, those just looked strange on him. Brown-and-silver had never been the most flattering combination, but it had been familiar at least. She tried to imagine Padma in anything but dark blue and gold, and failed utterly.

“Is Cordelia coming?” she asked impulsively, since it appeared no one else was going to voice the question, postive she—and possibly Padma—were the only ones who had not already been told. Lieutenant Illyan shot her a look, but Alys ignored it, instead waiting for Aral to respond.

“She’s with the boys,” Aral said. He looked at the door instead, beyond which the Council of Counts was waiting, preparing to give their oaths. Few of them were enthusiastic, exactly, but all of them wanted this to be done, and all of them were there. Negri and Illyan had arranged it, supported by the military.

Personally, Alys would have also preferred to be at ImpMil, would have preferred for Ivan to be there as well, but she received very little of what she wanted, beyond—beyond Ivan’s safety and life, which she had.

To Negri, he said, “And we anticipate no difficulties with the adoption vote?”

“None,” Negri said smoothly. “If it could be held before the oaths—”

“'It would comfort the counts'. I understand. Count Vorkosigan said much the same,” Aral said. “So, once more. The oaths of loyalty,” he began.

“Your adoption of Gregor, naming Gregor your heir, and Piotr adopting Miles as his heir,” Padma concluded, before Negri could do it. He even sounded encouraging. “Though if any of them try and make a fuss about either of the boys not being here…”

“I would welcome the excitement,” Aral said dryly. “And the explanation of why their future emperor should be removed from a monitored medical environment mere days after being shot. Surely, they’ll appreciate the larger target I provide. More sport.”

“Here,” Alys said impulsively, rising from her own chair, coming to stand in front of Aral. To their credit, neither he nor Negri nor Lieutenant Illyan flinched. It was heartwarming to know none of them assumed she’d be the first in the line of assassins surely coming to refocus on Aral now that Gregor was dethroned. She ran her hands down the front of his jacket, checking the arrangement of the medals, the tassels, the fit of his cuffs. The imperial uniform was not so different from the most formal of Padma’s. Maybe she was being unreasonable. There was very little fault to find, for all that the tailors had done hasty work. By all rights, the fussing should fall under Cordelia’s purview, but she was several miles away at her sons’ bedside, praying for recovery for one and continued medical success for the other. What bonds legal scissors and oaths would snip and tie today would mean little to Cordelia, for all that they wove the tapestry of what it was to be Vor.

Cordelia, for all her professed distaste for Barrayaran society, was still in this moment behaving more like a Vor than she probably realized in choosing the bedside of Gregor (and Miles, but he was always overlooked) over her husband’s coronation. And there was the small matter of her spilling blood for the empire, and the other half-dozen things that made Alys in equal parts fond, exasperated, and deeply glad she counted the other woman as a friend.

Satisfied that Aral was in good order, she gave his collar a final tug, smoothing the fabric down over his shoulders. The uniform was designed to flatter the wearer, as was all the ceremony, but Aral didn’t have the sort of ego that would be stroked by the proceedings. He wore every medal like it was pinned to his heart rather than over his breast.

As if he could read her thoughts, Aral sighed. Alys glanced up at his face, and he looked so tired, though he managed a quick smile for her as she stepped back to join Padma. “I am eager for this to be done.”

“It will be easy,” Negri said, like he was trying to persuade Gregor, and not Aral Vorkosigan. “The ceremony is a simple one that they have play acted since boyhood.”

“As easy as deposing a boy-emperor, Negri?” he said. “God knows I’d have found it difficult to keep him on the throne. Or maybe it’s just a Vorkosigan trait, deposing emperors.”

“You aren’t a Vorkosigan anymore,” Negri corrected. “Aral Vorbarra, by right through your mother. That’s the entire basis that this thin legal fiction rests on. Try not to draw any more attention to it.”

“The emperor has no clothes,” Aral quipped, and turned the handle to the council chambers, stepping out to face the council.


End file.
